Blow Your Mind
by pitchpearlgirl
Summary: Yes, Bobby admits his grade in World History is shit, but it's kind of hard to concentrate when your teacher's an ass. He just has to figure out a way to bring his grade back up.
Kelly and I are in hell and it is _glorious_.

Yeah I know I'm supposed to working on Unexpected Meeting but I was itching for something dirty and came up with this in about a week. Bit me.

Enjoy, you dirty sinners.

* * *

Bobby banged his head on the table. Then did it again. And again.

"Dude, you're gonna get brain damage," Mark said from the seat beside him. "It couldn't have possibly been that bad, could it?"

Without raising his head, Bobby flashed the top sheet of his history test at his best friend. Mark winced. "Yikes. D minus. That's rough, buddy."

"Yeah, no shit." Bobby looked up. "This is like, the sixth test I've either failed or almost failed this semester. And we're only six weeks into the school year!" He put his head in his hands and sighed. "Man, my grade's in the toilet. My mom's gonna kill me!"

"It's not your mom you gotta worry about," Mark said, putting his test paper - straight 'A's, as always - in his bag. "It's your uncle."

Bobby cringed. Mark was right. Uncle Press was a cool guy, and normally willing to let things slide, but this was different. As a sort of trade for teaching Bobby all kinds of cool skills and taking him on so many awesome trips, the one thing Press made him promise was that he'd try his best in history class. He seemed to have this thing about history, and how it needed to be learned or else people risked repeating it or something. Press was always spouting off stuff like that.

Bobby agreed to try his best, but the thing was, World History was _boring_. Bobby didn't care about all these dusty old books or what these ancient people did centuries ago. They had no effect on his life, they'd done their thing and now they were dead. End of story.

Plus, the professor was one of the worst Bobby had ever had. They guy _had_ to have been using a stage name or something, because it was extremely unlikely his name was actually Saint Dane. What kind of name is that anyway? Wasn't 'Saint' a title? Regardless, most of his students just called him Dane.

He was arrogant, and strict, and ruthless with his assignments. They got _at least_ one essay every other week, if he was feeling merciful. They went through a chapter in the giant textbook per week, and he graded tests on an extremely steep curve. Most of the students hated him, and Bobby was no different.

He'd actually managed to keep a high 'C' most of his college career through sheer determination, but this year, he'd walked into the lecture hall first day, seen Saint Dane writing information on the board before they'd even gotten their syllabus, and immediately known this year was gonna be hell.

He tried asking his uncle - who'd taught a philosophy class across campus for the past decade - if he knew the man. Press had immediately gotten this sour look on his face.

"That man is trouble," he'd said. "He's unusually cruel to his students and seems to take joy in making them feel bad. You want me to throw my word in and get you transferred?"

Bobby declined at the time, both wanting to fight his own battles (now that he was in college and all) and sort of feeling that Press might've been exaggerating. One professor couldn't possibly be that bad, right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

"Remember class, the research paper on the fall of the Han Empire and the resulting power vacuum it left China in is due this Monday." Bobby looked up from his test as Saint Dane finished wiping down the board and turned towards them. "Ten pages minimum, must have at least five sources, typed and printed. I am not taking late papers. You are dismissed."

Bobby shot to his feet and gathered his notes, stuffing them and the nearly-failed test in his bag and slinging it onto his shoulder. "Man, Mark, I gotta figure something out. If I don't get my grade up soon, I'm gonna die. I'm serious."

Mark closed his laptop and followed Bobby as he headed towards the door. "I dunno, man. I already suggested SparkNotes, but you shot that down for reasons you won't say."

"Mark, SparkNotes is for books," Bobby said. "I _did_ tell you, you just keep forgetting."

Mark shrugged "Like I said, I dunno. Hire a tutor maybe?"

Bobby considered it, but shook his head. "I don't think I have the money for that. And I can't ask Uncle Press, because he'll be disappointed it took me this long. Can't ask Mom either, or it'll somehow make it back to Uncle Press."

"I guess you're shit outta luck then," Mark joked. Bobby glared at him, and the smirk dropped off his face.

"Well, I've gotta get to Engineering academy. Catch ya later!" Mark jogged off towards the building his next class was in, leaving Bobby to amble along on his own. His next class was at five thirty, so he still had a couple hours until he needed to be there. He figured he should go get lunch or something, but the recent reminder that he was failing history had all but obliterated his appetite, so he decided to take a walk around campus instead.

Westchester Community College was a neat little place, relatively close to his home in Stony Brook. The tuition wasn't too much, it had an overall okay reputation, and both of his closest friends went there with him. The trio had decided to stick together until they got accepted into their colleges of choice. WCC was a good stepping stone into the 'real world', as Courtney put it. Bobby was just glad he didn't have to go out on his own quite yet.

Mark was aiming for a full ride at MIT, and from the way things were going, his chances were looking good. Bobby and Courtney were preparing for the day they would inevitably have to say goodbye, even though nothing had been announced yet.

Courtney had had dreams of one day joining the United States women's national soccer team since they were in high school, and those dreams had transferred with her to college. She was already top of the men's team at WCC, so Bobby had no doubt that she'd grab the scouts' attention soon enough.

That left him. Bobby didn't know what exactly he wanted to do with his life. He'd thought he wanted to play basketball professionally when he was in high school, but a year on the college team had drained his enthusiasm with the sport. He'd tried law, but all the professional legal jargon confused him no matter which way he looked at it, so that was dropped too. Eventually he settled on a degree in creative writing, thinking that maybe he could channel his penchant for coming up with weird stories into a career. At least it was entertaining.

That wouldn't help, though, unless he could get his stupid history grade up. Bobby sighed. He just wished there was a way he could get some help or something without having to pay actual money. And a guaranteed way to get it done without Uncle Press finding out about his terrible grades before he had a chance to bring them back up.

Bobby stopped and looked up. His aimless wandering had brought him around back to the building he started at. He checked his watch and sighed. Maybe he could ask the teacher? Saint Dane might be able to point him in the direction of a cheap tutor. Maybe he'd be merciful enough to help Bobby himself. Or even give him some extra credit.

...Yeah, right.

He pushed the door open to the professor's office anyways, thinking he didn't have anything to lose. If worst came to worst, his uncle would just have to be disappointed in him.

Saint Dane looked up from his desk as Bobby walked in, scowling down his long nose at his student's meek approach. He took off his reading glasses and set them aside, folding his hands in front of him.

"If you are going to ask something, stand up straight and spit it out," he said disdainfully. "And make it quick. I have papers to grade."

Bobby rubbed his arm awkwardly. He didn't know how to approach the subject. "So, uh… You know how I've been getting… not as good grades these past couple weeks?"

"Ah, yes. A steady stream of 'D's and 'F's. I have to say, I am disappointed. You were such a stellar student last year, but now?" He shook his head condescendingly. "Look at you."

Bobby looked away, muttering under his breath "My last teacher knew how to _teach."_

"Excuse me?" Dane asked. "Just because you do not know when to pay attention in class does not give you leave to blame it on _my_ teaching methods. Perhaps you are just not cut out for this class."

Bobby bit his lip to hold back a sarcastic retort. He had come here to get help, not to get in a pissing match with his professor. He took a steady breath to calm himself down, and forced himself to be polite in the face of Dane's rudeness. "I understand, sir. In fact, that's what I came back for. I wanted to ask for some help."

Saint Dane raised an eyebrow. "The great Bobby Pendragon, asking for help? It must be Christmas."

Bobby resisted rolling his eyes and nodded. "I don't have that much money, but if you know anyone willing to tutor me for yard work or something, that'd be wonderful."

Dane drummed his fingers on his desk, looking bored. "And why should I help you, hmm? It's not like you actually put any effort into your work. I feel like clawing my eyes out every time I so much as _look_ at one of your papers. Why shouldn't I just let you fail, since you seem so dead-set on doing it anyway?"

"But I'm trying now!" Bobby exclaimed. "I realize I fucked up, so I'm coming to you for help! Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"I suppose it is," Saint Dane said, sitting back in his chair. "However, you should have done that a long time ago- before your grade had a chance to drop this low. It's going to take a lot of work, both on your part and mine, to get it back up into the range of passing. You say you are willing to put the effort in, but am I? I do, after all, have many other failing students' grades and work to go through. Why should I spend extra effort, take even more time out of my day just to help one student?"

Bobby gulped. He was running out of options. If Saint Dane refused to help him, he didn't know what he'd do. "Please, sir. You don't have to do anything yourself, just point me in the direction of someone who can. Or you could let me retake the test! Or do corrections- some teachers do that. Please, I'll do anything!"

Saint Dane tapped his bottom lip with his pen, looking thoughtful. "Anything?" He chuckled. "And why do you assume you have anything I want?"

Bobby was getting desperate. Really desperate. Maybe that's what led him to his next thought; the option that he didn't know he had, that he didn't think would work, that was more of a last resort that _might_ actually get him kicked out of the school, or at the very least this class. But the thought came, and Bobby acted on it with only a second's hesitation.

" _Anything_."

Bobby leaned forward on the desk, and his entire demeanor changed. He lowered his voice, looking at his teacher through hooded eyes. He went from nearly curled into himself to seemingly crouching over the desk, hands flat on its surface. Inside he was nervous enough to die, but forced himself to stay calm for the sake of his grade. This was his last chance, and he needed to keep himself together for it to work.

Saint Dane had stopped short when Bobby planted his hands on the desk. The smug look dropped off his face, leaving him looking vaguely confused. "Sorry, what?"

Hoping he wasn't about to make another huge mistake, Bobby licked his lips, watching Dane's gaze flicker down towards the movement. Pulling back slightly, he stalked around the edge of the desk, never once losing eye contact with the man in front of him. He trailed his fingers along the wood surface, swaying his hips as he walked. Stopping in front of his teacher, he leaned back against the edge of the desk, making sure to arch his back as he leaned back on his hands. _This pose would work a lot_ _better if I had boobs,_ Bobby tried not to think. Not the time to get distracted.

Saint Dane seemed mesmerized by the sight. His mouth had dropped open slightly, his unaffected facade gone. Bobby smirked; it seemed to be working. Pulling one foot up and planting it on the chair next to Dane's leg, he trailed a hand down his chest and bit his lip.

"I may not be able to get you to let me redo the test," he said, spreading his legs and letting his fingers dance across his thighs, "but maybe there's something else I can do that'll convince you to bring my grade up…"

Dane gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his long neck. He raked his gaze down Bobby's prone form, taking in the wanton way his student stretched across his desk, eyes hooded and a lazy smirk on his face. His eyes flickered back up to Bobby's. They were dilated, obviously interested in the sight before him.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" he asked, voice rough.

Bobby lifted his other leg onto the chair, now bracketing Saint Dane's hips with his feet. With slow, fluid movements, he slid off the desk and onto his teacher's lap. Dane raised his hands, carefully settling them on Bobby's hips. Bobby shifted, intentionally rubbing his ass against Dane's growing erection, giving a moan that was only slightly exaggerated.

Opening his eyes slightly, he ran his hands up Saint Dane's arms, settling them on his shoulders and wiggling his hips tantalizingly again. "Anything you want," he all but purred.

Saint Dane seemed to think a moment, a grin slowly growing on his face, becoming wicked and hungry. "Anything I want?" he asked, squeezing Bobby's hips.

Something in the man's eyes, looking at Bobby like that, was such a fucking turn on that he barely had to act anymore as he moaned again. He bent to nuzzle Dane's neck, murmuring "I _really_ want a good grade."

Taking his lack of rejection as a signal to continue, Bobby rocked his hips. Saint Dane took a shuddering breath, clutching at the fabric of Bobby's jeans. Bobby wrapped his arms around his teacher's neck and repeated the motion. He set a slow, steady rhythm, determined to stretch this out and make it as good as possible. He was already doing this, so he saw no harm in going all out.

Saint Dane's breath was coming in sharp gasps by the time he forced Bobby to stop. Bobby felt winded himself, breathy moans slipping past his lips before he could catch them. Getting his teacher off was a _lot_ more arousing than he had thought it would be. He never realized Saint Dane could be so _hot_ , coming undone underneath him like this. His long grey hair, always so carefully kept, hung in his face, obscuring icy blue eyes. Bobby carded his hands through it and pulled, earning a moan from the older man. Bobby shifted, wanting to continue grinding, but the hands on his hips forced him to stay still.

"Stop," Dane growled. "If we're doing this my way, we're doing it _my_ way."

Bobby didn't get a chance to ask what he meant before he was dumped unceremoniously out of his teacher's lap. He landed hard on the carpeted floor, barely missing knocking his head on the oak desk. He cursed, glaring up at Saint Dane, but stopped when he saw the look on the man's face. A slow, lazy smirk, dark and dirty and _hungry_ twisted his lips, and he widened his legs in a clear invitation.

"Get on your knees, Pendragon," Dane ordered, leaning back in his chair.

Bobby shuddered at the heat in his gaze and broke eye contact. He instead sat up and slid his hands along the inside of Dane's thighs, slipping a finger under the button of his pants and flicking them open. He dragged the zipper down slowly and chanced a glance upwards.

Saint Dane was watching him with an intensity Bobby had never seen on the man's face before. It stole his breath away. He saw Bobby staring and snapped, "Don't stop. Or have you lost your nerve?"

That felt like a challenge, and it pissed Bobby off. Unfastening the pants, Bobby reached into the tight black briefs underneath and pulled out Saint Dane's cock. He leaned in to lick the head and the taste of his professor, the scent of him, made Bobby moan again. Steeling himself, Bobby concentrated on what he was doing.

He trailed his tongue along the underside of the shaft, curling it around the head before lowering his head and swallowing as much as he could. It was big - long and slender like the man himself - and Bobby wasn't able to go all the way down before he had to stop or risk choking.

Fingers in his hair had him looking up again. Saint Dane's eyes were at half-mast, his face flushed. He caressed Bobby's scalp, fingers pulling lightly at the dark brown strands. Bobby leaned his head into the touch, moaning at the slight tugging sensation. The vibrations from the noise seemed to work wonders on Dane, making his mouth drop open as his hips bucked upwards.

Bobby's hand joined in, pumping what he couldn't reach with his lips. He kept his gaze on Saint Dane, using the little noises and pants the professor made to find out what made him feel good. It helped him refine his technique and soon Dane was breathing hard, muscles clenched, head thrown back in ecstasy. Bobby relaxed his throat, and with a quick breath, swallowed Saint Dane's cock down to the base.

The hand in his hair yanked suddenly, pulling Bobby back. Hot come splashed on his cheek, silencing the question rising in his throat and making him forget all about the rough treatment. _I did that,_ he thought, feeling gleeful and so fucking turned on that it hurt.

Saint Dane's head was still tilted back, long, pale neck exposed as his erratic breathing slowly calmed. His eyes were closed, though as Bobby watched, he opened them and fixed Bobby with a filthy smile.

"Very good, Pendragon," he said. "I'm impressed."

"Of course you are."

Saint Dane gave a deep, husky laugh, sliding his fingers from Bobby's hair across his cheek, wiping the sticky come off. Bobby caught his teacher's hand and brought it to his lips, tongue darting out to taste. He slowly dragged his tongue along Dane's slender digits, wrapping his lips around them much the same way he'd just been doing to his cock.

"Very impressed," Dane said and leaned back. Plucking a tissue from the box on his desk, he cleaned himself up and put himself away, zipping his pants and folding his hands in his lap. He looked calm and collected, while Bobby felt like the most undone person in existence. He was hard, he still had come on his cheeks, and he couldn't quite seem to catch his breath.

"Dane-"

"Make yourself come. I want to watch."

Bobby blinked, mouth snapping shut. He shifted so that he was leaning back against the desk. Unzipping his jeans, he pulled out his cock and groaned at the sensation of cool air against his skin. He was almost painfully sensitive, his cock already slick with precome. Biting his lip, he looked up and found his teacher watching him with a crooked smile.

"Come on," he said. "I know you must want it."

Bobby nodded, unable to form words, and started stroking himself. The first touch was almost too intense, and Bobby had to bite back an embarrassingly loud moan. He shivered, gasping as his hand slid easily across his cock. He tried to look at Saint Dane, but he couldn't match his gaze for long. That stare was too much, but even with his eyes closed he knew Dane was watching him.

He was close to coming embarrassingly quickly. He opened his eyes to see that Dane's eyes were on him, saw that smile, those darkened eyes, and with a yelp he came. Stars exploded behind his eyes, orgasm pulsing through him, stronger and longer than anything he'd felt before. By the time it finally began to ebb away Bobby was shaking, thoughts scattered to the wind.

He slumped against the desk, gasping for breath, when he heard the squeak of Saint Dane's chair. He opened his eyes to see his teacher dropping to his knees in front of him. He pushed Bobby's thighs apart to get closer. Grinning, he dragged his fingers through the come staining Bobby's shirt. He pressed them to Bobby's lips, who moaned at the taste of his own come.

"Do you taste good, Pendragon?" Saint Dane's voice was soft, but his smile was smug, and fuck it but Bobby didn't regret a single second of this.

"You tell me," he whispered, and leaned forward to kiss his teacher. There was a second where he thought he might have gone too far, but then Dane kissed back, pushing against Bobby and licking hungrily into his mouth. Bobby still felt kitten-weak, but managed to get his arms around Dane's neck, grasping desperately at the fabric of his shirt to have something to hold onto. He let Saint Dane take control of the kiss and lost himself in it, still dizzy from coming and trying not to drown in the intensity of it all.

Saint Dane slid them down onto the floor without breaking the kiss, and Bobby moaned at the feeling of his teacher on top of him. Dane was a hot, heavy weight encompassing him, pressing him hard into the floor.

When Dane finally pulled back, they were both out of breath. Dane's eyes were dark and hooded, and Bobby could still taste their mixed come, salty on his tongue. He licked his lips and grinned.

"Soo…" Bobby twisted a long strand of his teacher's grey hair around his finger and batted his eyelashes. "I get a good grade or…?"

Dane hummed and pulled away, standing up. He grimaced at his ruined black dress shirt and undid the buttons, pulling it off and leaving him in a plain tank top. He wadded the stained shirt up and stuffed it in a drawer in his desk. "I'll give you a 'C'." He rolled his eyes at his student's pout and added "On the test, idiot."

Bobby's jaw dropped. "I sucked your cock and that's all I get? A 'C'?" he asked incredulously.

"Maybe you should have put some actual effort into learning the material, instead of relying on seduction to pass."

"But I _did_ try!"

"Halfway through the test, you started answering 'B' for every question," Saint Dane said bluntly.

Bobby made a noncommittal _ehh_ -ing sound, shrugging and making grabby hands at the box of tissues. Saint Dane dropped them on the floor and went about rearranging the papers on his desk.

The come on his shirt was starting to dry, but Bobby scooped up a finger full of it. He looked up at his teacher and, making sure he was watching, ever so slowly licked it off. Saint Dane's breath hitched, and he turned away, resolutely ignoring his student.

"You like that, don't you?" Bobby asked, mischievous smile forming. "You're one kinky motherfucker."

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," Dane responded, chuckling. Bobby felt his cheeks flame.

He finished straightening himself out and stood, tossing the used tissues in the trash can next to the desk. Saint Dane had sat back down in his desk chair and put his reading glasses back on, continuing to grade papers like he hadn't just been blown by one of his students. He looked calm and collected. Even his hair had been pushed back and put mostly back in order. Bobby self-consciously carded his fingers through his own damp hair.

He leaned against the edge of the oak desk and crossed his arms. "Seriously, though," he asked. "I do all that and you only raise that one test by a letter grade?"

Saint Dane pinched this bridge of his nose. "What do you _want_ me to do? Change all your grades, give you an 'A' plus, make you top of the class? Technically, I shouldn't have even done what I did. You should be thankful."

"That, _or_ ," Bobby replied, "you could do what I asked first and point me to a tutor or something."

"Ah." Dane steepled his fingers under his chin, thinking. "Well, no one in this class has above a 'C' average, so peer helpers are out of the question."

"I wonder why," Bobby muttered under his breath.

Saint Dane ignored the sarcastic comment. "I am one of only two World History professors at this school, and Miss Elli Winter focuses more on her archaeology class than her history class, so that is also not an option."

"You could always tutor me." It slipped out of Bobby's mouth before he'd thought it through. He considered taking it back, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a choice that might actually work. Saint Dane was the most knowledgeable person on campus when it came to history, being the most difficult history professor in the school. And despite most of his students having shitty grades, they usually, by the end of the year, got the highest scores on finals. It just took a hell of a lot more work and stress to get there.

Saint Dane raised an eyebrow. "That _could_ work," he said, nodding. "But what do _I_ get out of this? You mentioned not having much money to your name; how are you expected to pay me?"

Bobby smirked, sidling closer and leaning against the side of the chair. "Oh, I'm sure I can think of something…" he whispered in Dane's ear.

Dane chuckled. "My, aren't you cocky?"

"You have _no_ idea."

Saint Dane clicked his pen and set it down, offering Bobby his hand. "Why not? We both get something out of it that we want. What harm could it be?"

Bobby didn't hesitate before shaking it. "Deal."

A predatory grin stretched Saint Dane's lips, and Bobby wondered a moment if he'd just made a deal with the Devil. He didn't have time to worry long, as the clock on the wall above them chimed five.

Bobby cursed. "I only have ten minutes to get across campus!" He snatched up his bag and ran to the door. Before leaving, he turned back and asked, "So what's the plan?"

"Meet me here this Saturday, and we'll talk." Bobby nodded and threw the door open.

"Oh, and bring your finished research paper," Dane added.

Bobby groaned. "But that's due Monday!"

"Then you'd better hurry." Saint Dane chuckled again as his door slammed, and went back to grading papers.


End file.
